


Interfacing

by geneticallydead



Series: Clothes Make The Man [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal is profoundly offended, M/M, Tailor!AU, Will has some asshole clients, graphic descriptions of a terrible suit being destroyed, knife play but no cutting or blood, then they do the do, this got some plot I don't know how that happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneticallydead/pseuds/geneticallydead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal talks shop with Will. More suits get destroyed. Will wants to see Hannibal's true face. Porn.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“I want to see your real self,” Will said, maintaining his gaze, and saw a flare of raw excitement in response to his words. “I want to see you stripped bare of these fabric trappings and refined manners. I’d like to cut that hideous suit off you just to destroy your disguise.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Hannibal said, and Will blinked. What? His confusion must have shown in his face, because Hannibal gave a slow nod. </p>
<p>“Cut it off me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got longer and plottier than I was expecting? But also pornier, so there's that. This is complete so the second part will be along shortly.
> 
> You can come and talk to me on Tumblr about porn and tailoring - I'm [geneticallydead](http://geneticallydead.tumblr.com)! ~~Later today I'll (hopefully) be posting some tailoring links in response to an ask for those interested!~~ Noooope no that didn't happen, I didn't get to make that post, but soon I will! I just need to corral my links together! When I do post anything tailoring related, it will be with the tag of the series title, Clothes Make The Man.

Hannibal can’t make their date the Monday after their little… _interlude_ at Will’s shop. He called Will to explain he’d been called out of town on a case – apparently the good doctor consulted for the FBI, which Will hadn’t known – and might be gone for a week or more. On the phone his voice was low and husky, sending deep thrills of awareness straight to Will’s gut, and he tried not to let how affected he was play in his voice. How affected, and how disappointed.

Hannibal had left Will’s workroom on Saturday morning wearing a borrowed pair of trousers, going home to change before afternoon patients. They’d arranged to see each other Monday night, after both had finished work for the day, with the blatantly transparent plans of taking measurements for the suit Will was making. They’d both known that anything involving clothes being removed and intimate touching needed to happen after Will’s shop had closed.

Will can’t help but feel frustrated that he was pining after a man he’d known for less than a week like a teenager with a crush, so called Beverly to come for dinner Monday night instead. Neither of them cooked, so Will ordered in Chinese. She grilled him relentlessly about Hannibal, he managed to give nothing of great import away, they both drank too much beer, and she ended up crashing on the never-used left side of his bed. He lay awake as she snored and snuffled in her adorable way, pondering that. The left side of his bed might not be empty for long. He’d have to introduce her to Hannibal. Hannibal might want to introduce him to his swanky society friends. Their worlds would collide – that was if this thing between them was anything more emotionally involved than rampant lust. He didn’t know. He’d never actually had a relationship before.

Hannibal called Wednesday in the late afternoon, making light conversation, and Will found it easy and pleasant. He was in Minnesota, he confided, on the trail of someone abducting teenage girls and leaving no trace. _They’re dead_ , Will thought, and said as much. Hannibal discussed his thoughts on the case, seeming to need a sounding board, and it drew Will in, engaged his mind, like he was walking through the rooms of the latest missing girl’s house as Hannibal described her frantic and terror-stricken parents – how they had asked her to come home to housesit and watch the cat for the weekend, and she’d never arrived. He closed his eyes, seeing a slim dark-haired girl in the kitchen of some amorphous house, a cat winding around her legs.

“Are you still at the house?” he asked abruptly, interrupting Hannibal mid-sentence. There was a moment of silence.

“Yes. I’m waiting on Jack Crawford, the head of the BAU – he’s still talking to the parents. I came outside to steal a moment to call you,” Hannibal said curiously.

“Your man, your killer, he took her from there – not from the train, not while she was in transit,” he said, and took a deep breath at the continuing silence on the line. “She was going to her parents’ house to feed the cat. If it’d had no food over the weekend it would have been frenzied with hunger, they would have mentioned it. That kind of thing sticks out in your mind. She made it to her parents’ house, she fed the cat, and she was taken from there. Her bedroom is probably the crime scene.”

In the time before Hannibal answered, Will died a thousand deaths of mortification and frustration. The thing he could do, the way he could piece together random information and come up with an answer, the way he could _see_ it so clearly in his mind – it had been laughed off before. He’d been treated as strange and unmanageable for half his life, sent to see psychiatrists like Hannibal by his dad and Mort and even the police academy once, because the emotions of others imprinted on his mind and overwhelmed him. Because he often felt the need to voice what he knew and saw, which invariably ended up with people questioning his mental health. And he’d just done it _again_.

“I’ll tell Jack,” Hannibal said quietly, and Will let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Hannibal made his excuses and said goodbye, and as he did Will could hear him going indoors, the faint muffled conversation of worried parents and the man who must be Jack, before the line cut off. Will sat in his workshop, dumbfounded. Hannibal had believed him. Taken him at his word, and then acted on it.

Later that night, there was a text from Hannibal. ‘You were right,’ it said. ‘Girl taken from her bedroom. Talk soon. H.’

*

The following evening, Will closed up shop and got Winston from upstairs to take him for a walk. He thumped down the narrow stairs that led to the street door of his apartment, next to his shop front, shrugged on a jacket and opened the door to see Hannibal with his hand raised to press the doorbell.

“Hello Will,” he said pleasantly, and looked down at the dog, who was watching him with wary eyes. Hannibal presented the back of his hand to sniff. “And this must be Winston.”

“What are you doing here?” Will asked, and when Hannibal gave him an amused look, he sighed and tried again. “I mean, hi. I thought you were out of town for another few days so I wasn’t expecting you, and now you’re on my doorstep. Not that I’m complaining.”

Jesus fuck, shut _up_ Graham.

“Were you going to walk Winston? I could join you and we could talk, it’s a lovely evening,” Hannibal said, and Will gave a short nod. Winston stopped adoringly licking Hannibal’s hand long enough for him to herd them all out the door and lock up behind them.

“I’m running my mouth like an asshole because I’m _glad_ to see you, in case I didn’t make that clear,” Will muttered. Hannibal tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat, the beautiful black wool one he’d seen the week before, and let his eyes wander over Will’s shitty neighbourhood as they walked at an easy pace.

“I read between the lines,” Hannibal said wryly. “I sent you a text last night to tell you that you had been right about the girl’s bedroom being a crime scene. What I didn’t say, because it was far too complex to explain via text message, was that at some point yesterday her killer had placed her corpse back in her bedroom. Thus why I’ve returned early.”

“He put her back?” Will said in surprise. Winston paused to smell some weeds growing around a street sign, and they faced one another. “What had he done to her? Why didn’t he keep her?”

“She’d been strangled as cause of death, but was also pierced or punctured in several places on her torso and bled out. There was antler velvet in the wounds. Today’s autopsy revealed he had removed her liver and then replaced it. She had liver cancer,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. Winston tugged on the leash, and they kept walking. Will stared up at the light fading in the sky, and blinked rapidly as his mind processed this.

“He’s eating them,” he said finally, voice rasping with revulsion. “The meat was bad.”

“I suspected as much,” Hannibal said quietly beside him. “But to run the risk of returning the body rather than just disposing of her…”

“An apology. He doesn’t destroy them out of hate or anger. He wants to _honour_ them,” Will countered.

Hannibal made a low hum of agreement, and they were silent for a time, until Hannibal touched his shoulder blade in a pleasantly familiar stroke. “I apologise Will, I didn’t mean to bring my work into your world. You have an insightful mind, and I find having your thoughts and point of view to mirror mine has been immensely helpful. But let us turn to more pleasant conversation now.”

Will blinked, making an effort to snap himself out of the strange mental trance that seemed to take over when he and Hannibal discussed his case, or even his suits. It occurred to him suddenly that Hannibal was _deeply_ invested in how Will thought – not just their attraction, although perhaps part of the attraction stemmed from that investment. And yet it wasn’t the hungry, grasping interest that psychiatrists and psychologists had shown in him before, the kind where they mentally pictured their name in respected peer-reviewed journals, with him as the topic of their writing.

No, Hannibal liked how they spoke and thought _together_ , like two mirrors facing one another and creating infinite reflections. It was a novel kind of appreciation – where Will had realised they were alike with a sense of dread, because he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, Hannibal saw this ability to see more than others as a gift, and wanted to share it with Will.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he all but blurted out, and stared resolutely at the sidewalk as they continued on. “I was planning to get some take out and just… have a quiet night in. But I would like it if you would join me.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal wince at ‘take out’, but he let nothing show in his voice. “I would like nothing more, Will.”

Will gestured to a deli on the corner they were approaching, one that was known for its excellent food, and Hannibal relaxed perceptibly beside him while Will tried not to smirk. Hannibal had probably imagined they’d pick up a couple of greasy pizzas to eat with paper napkins over his coffee table – which Will wasn’t adverse to, but wasn’t something he’d subject Hannibal to. As they got closer to the busy deli, the door opened and a tall man with thinning hair and a paunch stepped out, a paper package tucked under one arm.

“Will! Doctor Lecter!” The man said brightly, blocking the path to the deli. Will sighed, and there was an awkward moment as all three of them realised they all knew one another. He was a customer that Will had been considering dropping the previous year.

“Hello Gerald,” Will said flatly.

“Doctor Norris. What a pleasant surprise,” Hannibal said. Doctor Gerald Norris was a psychiatrist working at John Hopkins, Will remembered. Of course he’d know Hannibal.

“What good luck that we bumped into one another like this, Will,” Gerald said, casting an interested eye between him and Hannibal. “I’ve been meaning to call in. I need a tux for the benefit that’s coming up. Probably new measurements. Put on a few pounds with all the winter food. I think something with a slimming line, and I’ll want to see your fabric choices. What do you recommend in spring suits, too?”

Will stared at him – did it _look_ like he was in his shop working? Gerald was patting his stomach affably – it was more than a few fucking pounds, it was an entirely new sloper’s worth of measurements. Beside him, Hannibal had stiffened noticeably at the man’s rudeness.

“We were just on our way to get something for dinner, Doctor Norris. Will has finished work for the day, as I’m sure you can see,” Hannibal said coldly. Beside them, Winston sat and whined.

“Oh I’m sure Will doesn’t mind talking shop for a moment,” Gerald said, frowning at Hannibal. Then he gave a smirk. “What are you Hannibal, his keeper? I didn’t know you two were having a _thing_.”

“Get your tux elsewhere, Gerald, you’re off the books,” Will said shortly. His brain was about to short out from anger and frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d been treated like the help, as if making clothes for rich people gave them claim on his time whenever they chose.

“You can’t do that!” Gerald said sharply, and looked at Hannibal as if he might find assistance in that quarter.

“It’s done. I believe Will has been rather clear,” Hannibal said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, you’re blocking the sidewalk.”

They all but pushed past him, leaving him gaping behind them, and Hannibal settled a comforting hand on the small of Will’s back. Will huffed, trying to clear the fury from his mind, the spears of violence that made him want to lash out and mash in Gerald Norris’s stupid face.

“He is a _pig_ ,” Hannibal said with surprising viciousness, and helped Will tie up Winston outside the deli where they could see him through the glass door. “Give him no more thought. He is beneath notice. A pig.”

*

They went back to Will’s apartment with matzo ball soup, sliced brisket, potato pancakes and noodle kugel. Hannibal was carrying their warm packages while Will pushed Winston back up the stairs, who wanted every walk to last forever, and stepped through the door to Will’s apartment – a long, open space that ran the length of the shop below, with a kitchen overlooking the courtyard garden and Will’s bedroom and bathroom at the street end of the building. Will let Winston off the leash, remembering his apartment was a mess.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said in embarrassment, clearing books off the table so Hannibal could set down their dinner. He kept darting around the living and dining area, trying to tidy up, until he realised he was just shuffling piles of books around. There wasn’t enough room on the shelves, which lined one wall of the apartment. He settled for stacking books on his desk on the opposite wall, the window there overlooking the alley below.

“Don’t apologise to me, please,” Hannibal said lightly, and helped Will fetch plates and bowls and cutlery from the kitchen. At least that was clean.

Outside the last of the early spring light died while they ate, and Will felt increasingly conscious that he and Hannibal were alone in his apartment. Their postponed date had happened after all. He couldn’t stop darting glances at Hannibal’s suit, revealed when he’d shed his coat – a red plaid so muddy it was almost brown with an orange check, matching trousers and waistcoat, a pale orange dress shirt, and a crimson and blue paisley tie and pocket square. It was _horrible_.

“Did you wear that just to appal me?” he asked, once they were settled in armchairs by the space heater, Winston curled in his bed nearby. Will had unearthed a bottle of merlot that wasn’t bad to accompany dinner, and they were finishing the last of it now.

“I’ve worn it all day. I went to Quantico to consult. I wasn’t sure if I would have the time to see you or not, so no,” Hannibal said, one corner of his mouth curling in amusement. He drained his glass and set it aside. “I take it you object?”

“On _so_ many levels,” Will said. He set his glass aside too, feeling a strange fizz of anticipation curling in his belly. “It does nothing for your colouring or physique. It makes you something you’re not.”

“What am I then?” Hannibal asked, not for the first time, and Will almost groaned in frustration – because for all he could see what Hannibal _wasn’t_ , he couldn’t see what he _was_.

“If I weren’t a tailor, I wouldn’t know how wrong what you wear is,” he mused. “I would see it and accept the surface presentation – that you are softer than you are, smaller and easier to handle. That you like the brightness and boldness of your suits, that your flamboyance in that respect is the affectation of a cultured, wealthy man.”

“Many tailors other than you have only seen that surface presentation,” Hannibal said. Will gave an impatient nod.

“Of course, because it was tailored by one of the best. Maggie knew exactly how to hide the imperfections – there’s symmetry in the flaws. But I’m _also_ one of the best,” he said.

“And you see more than most, regardless of profession,” Hannibal said softly. Will caught his eyes for a moment – he saw fascination there, and desire, and a simple enjoyment of their interaction.

“I want to see your real self,” Will said, maintaining his gaze, and saw a flare of raw excitement in response to his words. “I want to see you stripped bare of these fabric trappings and refined manners. I’d like to cut that hideous thing off you just to destroy your disguise.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, and Will blinked. What? His confusion must have shown in his face, because Hannibal gave a slow nod. “Cut it off me.”

\--

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suit gets cut, oh yes.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, and Will blinked. What? His confusion must have shown in his face, because Hannibal gave a slow nod. “Cut it off me.”

Neither of them moved for a moment. Will allowed himself to imagine cutting the suit right off Hannibal, letting it fall around him in tatters, and felt a disturbing jump from his half-hard cock. Jesus, why did _that_ turn him on? Trying to convince himself this was just some elaborate fantasy word play and wouldn’t go so far as actual cutting, Will drew his pocket knife from his pocket and unfolded the four-inch blade. Hannibal sat still and calm, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, watching the knife.

“You want me to?” he asked, still hovering on the border of decision and action.

“I want you to see me,” Hannibal said. Apparently Will’s cock found _that_ hot, too, because he was quickly getting uncomfortably hard in his trousers.

He slid out of his chair, shuffling across the rug on his knees to Hannibal’s feet. He set the knife aside, shot another look up at Hannibal, and then carefully unlaced and removed his shoes. He felt a shot of power at the passive way Hannibal allowed it all – consciously giving Will all the control. Feeling bolder, he tossed the shoes over his shoulder. Hannibal smiled.

“Why do you have a shotgun mounted under your desk?” he asked, and Will jolted in the middle of yanking his socks off. He let them fall and picked up the knife.

“Because terrible things happen in the world every day and I want to protect myself,” he said, knowing it didn’t ring true as he said it.

“More than the shotgun, though,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. He watched with dark eyes as Will set the knife to the hem of his trousers, pulled the material taut with his other hand and began slicing up towards the knee. The knife was wickedly sharp and cut easily. Hannibal straightened his leg out slightly to make it easier. “I’d guess… two handguns. A semiautomatic and a revolver.”

“Semi in the bedroom, revolver in the kitchen,” Will admitted. He switched to the other leg once he’d sliced the fabric up to the knee.

“What goes bump in the night for you, Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice low and hypnotic. “Why three guns to protect yourself? All kept loaded, I assume.”

“Yes, loaded,” he said. He shuffled closer to Hannibal, inserting himself between his knees, so he could keep cutting fabric up the line of thigh. Underneath, Hannibal’s thigh was toned and heavy with muscle. “I close my eyes at night and feel unsafe. When I open them again, I’m not any safer than I was with them closed.”

Will kept cutting on each side, right up to the line of Hannibal’s hips where his body bent in the seat, not quite at the waistband of his trousers, and paused, trying to decide where to go next, but thinking on their discussion too. He decided to move up to Hannibal’s suit jacket, flipping the lapels open and running a fast slice from the notched lapel to the shoulder pads on each side – he could feel the interfacing through the knife, an extra layer between jacket and lining, no doubt added for extra padding on Hannibal. He continued speaking as he worked.

“I wanted to be a cop, once. I’d been settled in New Orleans with Mort for a while, and I was even starting to pick up the accent. Mort encouraged me to apply, said I could do good in the world, was too smart to keep measuring inseams for the rest of my life. I had my GED and Mort had insisted I take some classes at the community college, so I had enough credit to pass the entrance requirements. So I left Mort’s shop and did clerical work in the department until the next Academy class started.”

Will started working his way carefully down one arm, skimming the knife between the suit jacket and the dress shirt sleeve beneath. He wanted to peel Hannibal open one layer at a time, wanted the satisfaction of taking his time in his destruction.

“What happened at the Academy?” Hannibal asked. He hadn’t moved except to tilt his head, still sat relaxed and easy even as Will dragged a knife next to his skin.

When each jacket sleeve was sliced, Will let them fall open to reveal the shirt underneath. _Fucking French cuffs_. He gave a snort, just managed not to roll his eyes, put down the knife and picked up Hannibal’s wrist to remove the actually quite tasteful silver and blue sapphire cufflinks – Hannibal’s true tastes sneaking into his dress? When doing the second wrist, Will deliberately stroked his fingers over the pulse beating there, slow and steady.

“We were being trained on securing a crime scene as a first responder, to preserve forensic evidence,” he said quietly. He took up the blade again, and sliced quickly through the shoulders of Hannibal’s waistcoat, cutting the elastic suspenders underneath too.

“Ah,” Hannibal said knowingly. Without ceremony, his waistcoat was cut through the button placket and spread open. “They had you look at crime scene photographs.”

“I looked at those photographs and it was like rewinding a tape. I saw it all as pristine and normal and routine as it had been right up until the violence. Then I could press play, but instead of watching from the outside, I was in the scene. I was the perpetrator, destroying human lives. I murdered people, and I _liked it_ ,” Will whispered. He paused, the knife hovering above Hannibal’s chest, and finally looked up for eye contact. Hannibal did not look worried or appalled or even concerned. He looked… _pleased_.

Will let his free hand slide slowly up Hannibal’s chest, and flipped up his collar. He hooked a finger under the garish paisley tie and jerked it out, creating a space. He set the knife in that space, right next to Hannibal’s neck. Neither of them moved.

“You left the Academy, and went back to your life as a tailor, because it was too easy. You liked it too much. You could step into that darkness and never come out,” Hannibal said.

“Yes,” Will replied, and flicked the knife so the noose of the tie was cut, and it slithered free. Next he touched the blade to the two collar stand buttons and cut them loose with a careful stroke of the knife, and grazed it down Hannibal’s chest, the centre buttons pattering to the chair and floor around them.

“You keep the loaded guns because you know you _attract_ that certain type of darkness. Those who recognise your ability and _long_ to be understood,” Hannibal said.

Will stopped in the act of spreading Hannibal’s shirt open, staring at his muscular chest, the gold and silver hair that trailed down to the slight softness of his middle. He was breathing hard, in a way that wasn’t justified by his level of exertion.

“Like you,” Will said, and Hannibal nodded.

“Yes. Like me,” he agreed.

“You dress so brightly and with so much colour to hide that darkness,” Will said. “To hide the absence of light.”

Hannibal said nothing, just nodding again. Viciously, without his former precision and care, Will cut the shirt from centre button placket, up to shoulder and down to cuff, shredding each side. He felt furious, at himself _and_ Hannibal, but not furious enough to stop. He had wanted this – to see behind the mask.

“I want you to see me,” Hannibal said, and there was a deeply buried note of yearning there that Will felt like a fist to the gut. He sat back on his heels, knife resting on top of his thigh in his curled fist.

“What kind of darkness?” he asked. He ran the fingers of his other hand up Hannibal’s bare thigh where the sawed open trousers had fallen away.

“One I have perhaps always had, but compounded by the snow and starvation and childhood loss,” Hannibal said. “Like you, I look and see what others don’t. It has _always_ marked me as different. I attract that darkness too. It’s why you and I are here together; why you want to know what I truly am.”

Will said nothing, thinking on Hannibal’s words – on his own compelling attraction to the other man, his need to tear down his false faces and see what really lay underneath. He slid a finger up through the rent fabric covering Hannibal’s thigh, under the leg of his snug boxer briefs, and slid the flat of the knife there. Then he turned it, blade up, and sliced. Hannibal arched his lower back slightly, but still a thin red line was left on his skin – not a cut, just a scratch. Will cut all the way up through the waistband of trousers and underwear, then did the same to the other side. When finished, he was careful not to disturb the fabric, to leave it in place modestly covering Hannibal’s groin.

“There. I’ve destroyed your façade. Now you have to show me your face,” he said, trying for lightness, but when he looked up to make eye contact he jolted at what he saw.

It was as though the affable doctor had fallen away from Hannibal’s face, some veneer of civility that had been so deeply embedded that what it left in its place was raw and sharp and almost obscene. Will fell back on his hands in shock, the knife skittering away from him – Hannibal looked like someone else, something _other_ , a dark god who held no pretence now. He stood up with lithe, leonine grace, and the tatters of his shredded clothes fell away from his as he did, revealing the golden planes of his body.

No soft, well-padded social butterfly here – Hannibal looked like a predator, stood like one, with his shoulders set squarely back, balanced on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent. His hands curved by his hips, fingers flexing, and the fall of light from overhead made deep wells of shadows of his eyes. Will suddenly felt like he’d been calmly teasing a lion, pulling on its claws and mane, while it politely decided to humour him – but now all play was over.

Oh god, it was _so hot_.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said without thinking, most of his mind focused on the renewed swelling of his cock in his pants. He started yanking at the buttons of his worn cotton shirt, wanting to be naked, wanting to climb all over this terrible god and _claim him_.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice low and rasping, and held out a hand. Will took it, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and into the radius of heat from Hannibal’s body, standing chest to chest. He focused on the faint stubble on Hannibal’s jaw and the corded lines of his throat. Hannibal pushed the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, so their bare chests bumped together.

“I’m going to destroy all of your suits so you always look like this. Keep you naked in my cupboard,” Will breathed, and leaned into lick the long line of Hannibal’s clavicle under his nose.

Hannibal gave a little rumble of laughter, his long finger’s going to the button of Will’s trousers to nimbly flick it open. “What do you see, Will?”

“You’re elemental,” Will said, distracted. He shoved his pants and underwear down his hips, kicking them off. He’d taken his boots off after their walk, so now just toed his socks off so he was naked. He didn’t make any other move to touch Hannibal though. “You dress yourself in civility and culture because you _like_ it, you enjoy it, but at your base level you are something _more_ than those around you. That absence of light that allows your mind to move where others’ don’t.”

“Like you,” Hannibal said, echoing their earlier conversation, and Will nodded simply. He looked down, at Hannibal’s long, curved cock occasionally brushing his own as they swayed toward one another.

“I want you to fuck me,” Will said, and looked up into Hannibal’s dark, fathomless eyes – he found he could hold their gaze without flinching. “I desperately need you to fuck me tonight.”

“I think that may be the sweetest invitation I’ve ever heard,” Hannibal said in amusement. “Lead on.”

Will’s bedroom was behind glass French double doors, installed by the previous owner – he didn’t bother turning on the lights as they went inside, there was light cast through the venetian blinds from the streetlight outside the window over his bed. He went straight to the bedside table, taking out lubricant and condoms from the drawer and laying them in easy reach. When he turned, Hannibal had closed the doors behind him and was standing marked by horizontal slashes of amber light. Will felt adrift – he’d been with enough men to know what he was doing sexually, but with Hannibal everything felt new and different. Felt _important_.

“Will,” Hannibal said again, in his throaty accented growl, and they both crossed the floor to meet in the middle, colliding with a kiss.

Their mouths fit together perfectly, arms winding around one another, warm skin meeting warm skin the full length of their naked bodies for the first time. Will moaned into the kiss, licking at Hannibal’s mouth until he opened then thrusting his tongue inside, wanting to drink him up and swallow him down. He rubbed against Hannibal, feeling restless and frantic, and let out a surprise whoosh of breath when Hannibal shoved him abruptly down onto the bed.

“Mine,” he gasped, as Hannibal climbed onto him, straddling his thighs.

“Yes, yours,” Hannibal said, gripping Will’s leaking cock in his dry palm and jerking it roughly. Will moaned and arched his hips, and Hannibal chuckled. “You have undone me completely. What else could I be, but yours?”

Will gripped his hips, scrabbling for purchase as his cock was expertly squeezed and pulled in Hannibal’s hand, panting hard. He tried to shove his body up the bed – his knees were still hanging over the edge – but Hannibal had him pinned. He felt primal and hungry, wanting to flip Hannibal over and bite all over his skin, over every inch of him, to show that this raw being whom Will just _knew_ had been alone for all his life was claimed now, marked.

Hannibal bent to kiss him again, to bite and suck at his lips, and Will sucked Hannibal’s tongue into his mouth greedily. Hannibal shifted off him finally, and Will launched upwards – they fell together on the bed in a tangle of limbs, still kissing, wound together on their sides facing one another. Will threw a leg over Hannibal’s thigh, pinning him close, and raked his fingers down Hannibal’s chest, catching the hard nubs of his nipples. This close, their cock were pressed together, and Hannibal gave a guttural moan and rubbed against him. He leaned back to snag the lubricant from the bedside table, and a moment later Will felt slick fingers pressing against the tight bud of his ass, probing and pressing.

“Jesus, just shove in,” Will panted, grinding back against Hannibal’s hand, desperate to be filled. Hannibal gave a chuff of amusement and a moment later one finger pressed inside, thrusting several times before a second joined it.

Will moaned at the exquisite feel of it, flopping his head back on the bed and trying to shove his whole body down on those fingers that stroked and stretched inside of him. Hannibal pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to his throat, and a moment later those fingers withdrew – Hannibal tore open a condom with his teeth, but Will snatched it from his hands and took the opportunity to roll it down that thick, perfect cock himself. Hannibal was waiting with lubricant, stroking it down himself efficiently before pressing Will onto his back and shoving a pillow under his hips.

“Oh god yes, I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this, for you,” Will said as Hannibal settled between his spread thighs, balanced on knees and elbows.

“I’ve been able to think of nothing else,” Hannibal admitted softly, and reached between them, lining his cock up at Will’s hole and pressing in slowly.

It was perfect – a slide of sting and burn that only added to the pleasure. Will breathed deeply, little sounds escaping his throat as Hannibal pushed into the hilt and held for one long aching moment – then drew back and shoved in again hard. Will arched and groaned, winding his legs and arms around Hannibal as the man pumped into him again and again, shifting his hips with each thrust until he hit that sweet spot inside of Will that made him give a strangled yell – then Hannibal hit it again and again.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, skin sliding together, and Hannibal kissed Will so deeply he thought they might melt into one another, like some sensual wax sculpture that would harden when the night was over and the light came. Hannibal reached between them, using his hand to stroke Will’s cock in long, powerful draws and he was done, completely done – body jerking as he came moaning Hannibal’s name, clenching tight around him with his whole body, inside and out, toes curled and hard shots of light in his eyes, barely able to breathe for that long perfect moment that orgasm wracked his entire being. He was vaguely aware of Hannibal shuddering and moaning with him, reaching his own climax deep inside Will’s body, and then they slumped together in a mess of sweat and limbs and come, Hannibal’s face pressed into his neck.

Will knew he would be sore in the morning, but in the sudden quiet of his bedroom with Hannibal’s entirely relaxed body covering him, he felt nothing but a unique, perfect calm and clarity of vision. He probably loved Hannibal Lecter, which would terrify him the following day, but at that moment it felt comfortable and right.

_I murdered people, and I liked it_ , he had told Hannibal earlier in the evening, speaking of his experiences reliving crime scenes. But Hannibal had been pleased. More that that. If he sifted back through that conversation with words about darkness and difference that were said later, he could come at it with the understanding of hindsight. Hannibal had been pleased, yes, and _hopeful_.

On top of him, Hannibal carefully levered himself up and gave Will a tender kiss on the mouth, gripping his cock as he pulled out of Will to keep the condom in place. He climbed off the bed, going to the connecting bathroom to dispose of the condom. Will watched the long, lean lines of his body, the play of muscles sliding under skin as he went and returned, carrying a washcloth. It was warm, and he gently gave Will a quick clean, then climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up over them both. Will cuddled into him, feeling warm and sleepy and sated, but with one persistent thought that would not leave him alone as he listened to Hannibal’s heart beat steadily in his chest.

_How many people have you killed?_ he wondered, and covered Hannibal’s hand with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr: [geneticallydead](http://geneticallydead.tumblr.com)!


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